


Evil Eye of the Beholder

by misbegotten



Category: Remember WENN
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:58:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WENN Pittsburgh hosts an impromptu beauty pageant. Some people are green with envy. Some are just green.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evil Eye of the Beholder

The studio of WENN Pittsburgh, was blessedly quiet. The telephone clerk, Gertie, had nearly been lulled to sleep by the gentle hum of her circuits, her switchboard undisturbed by calls. The green room, where actors and guests generally found a vacant seat and a relatively warm cup of coffee, was empty. Inside the broadcasting room, the usual daytime bustle of activity was subdued; the sound effects man, Mr. Foley, remained silent while Mackie Bloom, WENN's man of innumerable voices, solemnly delivered the day's news bulletin, cushioning the station's listeners from the horrors of war overseas with his most consoling tone. In the writers' room, the one and only writer paused in her frantic typing to enjoy the near-silence.

It didn't last.

"Betty, have I got an idea!"

"Betty, I simply must have the last page for 'Valiant Journey!' We go on in five minutes!"

"Betty, there was a call for you earlier. A young lady about a doctor. Or maybe it was a doctor about a young lady...."

The beleaguered writer held up one silencing finger to the trio abruptly crowded in her doorway. Betty Roberts stared at them for one moment from watery eyes, paused to wipe her sore and reddened nose with a handkerchief, and addressed them glumly in reverse order.

"Thank you for the message, Mr. Eldridge." As the elderly 'man about the station' tottered away, she made a mental note to check with Gertie about the true content of the call. "Hilary, I've got the last page of 'Valiant Journey' right here." Betty typed two final letters on the sheet in her typewriter and rolled the paper out. WENN's prima donna Hilary Booth took the extended sheet and glided out of the room, glancing at it as she did so.

"Amnesia again?" Betty heard Hilary's sigh just before the final petitioner slid the door shut.

"As I was saying, I've got a jim-dandy of an idea!" crowed Scott Sherwood, the station manager, pacing around her small room with his usual frenetic air.

Betty sniffled at him and dabbed her nose with the handkerchief.

"I ran into a guy last night at a b-- well, the important thing is that this guy is a doctor. And not just any doctor -- he's Dr. Taft, an expert in 'cosmetology' with his own line of beauty products."

Betty coughed miserably.

"Wentworth's Department Store is going to be carrying his line, and Mr. Wentworth has agreed to sponsor a new program -- Taft will host a show this week on beauty secrets. Isn't that great?"

Betty sneezed.

The dark-haired man paused in his circuit around the writer's room, sitting down on the desk in front of her. He eyed her critically, as if looking for beauty secrets in her puffy eyes and frazzled black hair. A week of a nasty head cold, combined with the usual plethora of scriptwriting which she needed to complete, had left Betty with little time for sleep, much less with the energy to put on makeup or do more than shake the wrinkles out of her normally crisp clothes. They, like she, looked wilted.

"Gee, Betty. You look terrible. You should get more rest." This pronouncement complete, Sherwood bounced up off the desk and flung open the door. "Will you look at the time? Let me know when you get a script done for the show," he called as he retreated down the hall.

Betty watched her door gently slide closed, then put her head down on her typewriter.

***

"Beauty secrets from a man?" Hilary Booth asked disdainfully. She examined her reflection in her vanity mirror and -- pleased with the luminous eyes, the shining auburn hair, the nearly impeccable makeup that it reflected -- touched up her lipstick.

"You've had some make-up men in your day, Hilary," her husband Jeffrey Singer reminded her. He sipped his coffee and reclined back in his chair. "There was Ben Morrison, for example, on that production of 'The Old Maid.'"

"I can't imagine that took much make-up," Maple LaMarsh, the daytime organist, commented wryly as she continued flipping through the pages of her magazine.

Hilary paused to sniff dismissively at Maple's loud orange hair and equally declarative dress, then turned back to Jeff. "It's the principle of the thing, my dear Jeffrey. Women know more about beauty. Men simply appreciate it."

"Some more than others," Maple winked at Jeff as she sashayed out of the green room.

***

"Doctor Taft, I'm so glad you could stop by our little station."

"Oh, please, call me Barry," the newcomer protested, disentangling his hand from Scott Sherwood's enthusiastic greeting. "I've always wanted to visit a radio station." Taft, a well-dressed man in his early fifties, gazed about the entranceway in admiration, taking in the hallway which led to the broadcasting studio, the performance inside echoed on the radio on Gertie's desk. "Besides, Veronica wanted to drop by. Apparently you made quite an impression on her last night," the doctor-turned-cosmetologist continued benevolently.

The woman in question looked askance at the snort of laughter which Gertie had been unable to contain, but addressed herself to Scott in flattering tones. "Your description of the station made it sound quite exciting, Mr. Sherwood." She refrained from commenting on the chortle behind her that reflected Gertie's renewed amusement.

That Sherwood did not turn into a quivering mass of flattered masculinity was not for lack of effort. Veronica Baker was attractive; her expertly-applied makeup flattered the deep blue of her eyes, the golden tones of her skin muted by a pale sheen that emphasized her pouty lips, and her long hair was bound in a cascade of curls that one was tempted to unleash just to see --

Scott shook himself back to reality abruptly. "Please," he said, taking her hand gallantly, "Call me Scotty."

A noisy sneeze behind him nearly made him jump.

"_Scotty_," Betty Roberts said pointedly as she held up a sheaf of papers to him, "Here's the script you wanted."

"Ah, Betty!" He took the papers with hand, and with the other drew her forward. "Let me introduce you to Miss Baker."

"Ronnie!" the writer exclaimed in surprise as she saw the visitors clearly for the first time.

"Ronnie?" Scott echoed.

"Betty!" Veronica greeted her with a fond smile and an embrace. As she pulled back, Baker shook her head apologetically. "I did try to call."

"Betty?" Scott asked, seeking enlightenment.

"Ronnie Baker is an old friend of mine, Scott," Betty explained, her pale face taking on greater animation.

"We Elkhart girls are everywhere," Veronica agreed, then drew her friend's attention to the doctor. "Betty, I want you to meet my employer, Dr. Barry Taft."

"Pleased to meet you." Betty offered her hand to the man politely, but was discomfited when he did not release it right away. The doctor's face had taken on a speculative air.

"You know, you have quite remarkable eyes, Miss Roberts."

"Er, thank you," she replied, shooting a glance at her friends. Scott and Veronica moved forward at the same time, but Sherwood reached them first.

"Betty, why don't you show your friend the green room," he suggested, detaching her hand from Taft's, "And I'll show Barry here the broadcasting booth. And then maybe we can all have lunch together in the buttery."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Veronica agreed as Betty protested, "Oh, I've got two more scripts to write this afternoon."

"Okay, then," Scott waved them off with his hand and urged Taft towards the control room. "We'll catch up with you, Miss Baker."

The women watched them disappear into the control booth, then Veronica looped her arm through Betty's as they walked towards the green room. "It really does seem to be a nice station, Betty."

"It's a nice place to work," Betty agreed. She thought briefly of her own initial visit to the studio, fresh off the train from Elkhart, Indiana, and the words came unbidden to her lips, "But it's the people that make it special."

Veronica glanced through the window of the studio, where Hilary and Jeff were performing the freshly-typed pages of "Valiant Journey." Her gaze slid past them to the men in the control booth. "Yes, I know what you mean." She glanced at Betty speculatively. "Scott Sherwood seems exciting, for example."

"Oh, he's very exciting," Betty agreed wryly, watching with amusement as Scott pointed out to Taft various radio dials that she was quite sure Sherwood didn't know how to operate. "What about you? What's it like to work for Dr. Taft? In fact," she continued, slightly puzzled, "What exactly do you do?"

"Barry travels all around the country selling his beauty products. He doesn't pay much attention to details, though." Veronica shook her head tolerantly. "He originally hired me in Indianapolis to demonstrate the products to a prospective client. It turned into a full-time job. I still model for him occasionally, but most of the time I keep track of our inventory, record sales, things like that."

Betty smiled fondly at her friend. "You always were good with numbers."

"Yes," Veronica smiled, a little sadly, "More than just a pretty face." Before Betty could inquire at the tone, however, they were interrupted by the arrival of the two men.

"Oh, I'm sure you're understating the case, Miss Baker," Scott -- who had caught her last words -- said gallantly.

"Yes indeed," Taft agreed, cocking his head to study Veronica with a clinical air. "Veronica is always the perfect model for Taft Tearose lipstick. Not to mention Taft Tingling Skin Enhancers!"

Betty managed to refrain from licking her own chapped lips.

"Shall we go, my dear?" Taft prompted his protege.

As she rose, Veronica squeezed Betty's hand. "We'll catch up tomorrow night before the broadcast."

***

"Betty, Betty, Betty! Have I got an idea!" Scott Sherwood seemed not to notice that his prospective audience could barely lift her head from the table top in the green room. Another sleepless night of sneezes and coughing had left Betty with little enthusiasm for consciousness, much less one of Sherwood's wayward schemes.

"I ran it across Ronnie last night, and she thought --"

"Ronnie?" Betty opened one eye, cocking the eyebrow at him. "You saw Ronnie last night?"

"Oh sure," Scott answered breezily. "We saw a movie. But let me tell you what I've come up with. I thought that after Barry finished his presentation of the moisturizers and what-not, we could put them all to good use. And what's the best way to use beauty products?"

Betty propped herself up on her elbows. "Oh, Scott...."

"Yes! By providing beauties to use them! We will do a beauty contest, right here at WENN!"

"Scott," Betty protested weakly, "it's radio. Nobody will be able to see them!"

"See who?" Mackie Bloom interjected as he wandered into the green room with Jeff right behind him. The short, rotund actor made an interesting contrast with Jeff's lanky height. Together, they generally provided a skeptical audience for Sherwood's schemes.

"A line of dazzling beauties," Scott encouraged them, pantomiming a line of metaphorical fashion plates with his hands "All wearing Taft Beauty Products and nothing else."

Betty looked shocked. Mackie looked shocked and speculative. Jeff simply looked speculative.

"Nothing else?" Betty demanded.

"No other beauty products, I meant of course," Scott replied, surprised by her sudden ire.

"Hmmm," Jeff mused agreeably. "Sounds like a fine idea, Sherwood. One of your best."

"And who would decide the winner in this contest?" Mackie inquired.

"What contest?" Hilary asked as she entered the room and moved towards the coffee pot.

"Scott wants to have a beauty contest here at the station," Betty explained to her, hoping for some show of support.

"Well..." Hilary laughed deprecatingly. "That would hardly be fair, would it? After all, I've had critics raving about my beauty for years."

"And years, and years," Mackie and Jeff chorused instantly.

"Actually," Scott interceded, hoping to avoid bloodshed, "I thought we might bring in some different contestants. It wouldn't be fair to pit the staff against each--er, amateurs against the staff, I mean."

"And who did you have in mind?" Betty asked warily.

"I thought that Maple would be able to persuade a few of her friends from the Crimson Follies to help out."

"Yeah," Mackie agreed. "This could be our big chance. _Their_," he corrected himself hastily. "Their big chance."

"Great." Sherwood clapped his hands together, plotting. "I'll get Maple to call over to the theatre. Mackie and Jeff can be our judges. All you ladies will have to do is sit back and enjoy a much deserved break."

"Great," Hilary echoed sourly. Betty sneezed miserably.

***

"It's all set," Scott proclaimed, hanging up the phone on his desk. "Maple can swing by and pick up the girls at six o'clock."

"Tell me this wasn't your idea from the beginning," Betty sighed.

"Why, Betty!" Sherwood raised a protesting hand, covering his heart as if he expected her to manhandle it. "I'm shocked that you could suggest such a thing now." He smiled, his dark eyes alight with a roguish twinkle. "You should have suggested it at least twenty minutes ago."

"Hm," she sighed fretfully.

A knock on the door interrupted them. "Scott? Are you ready to go?" Veronica Baker stuck her head into the office. "Oh, hi Betty." She stepped forward, followed closely by Barry Taft.

"Ah, Miss Roberts," Taft proclaimed. "I do hope that you'll be joining us for lunch today?"

"Lunch? Again?"

Scott rose from his desk and picked up his coat, but Taft sat down into the chair next to Betty. "Yes indeed, and I must insist that you accompany us. I have a proposition for you."

"Proposition?" Betty was surprised at how squeaky the voice sounded. She was even more surprised that it was not her own. "What sort of proposition, Barry?" Veronica demanded. Taft did not seem to notice his assistant's question as he leaned forward, his voice growing more heated.

"Miss Roberts, I would like you to be a model for the Taft line of beauty products at Wentworth's. Your natural beauty is the perfect complement to the natural ingredients in my balms. Your fair skin is the perfect palette for my ointments. Your delicate lips--"

"Will be touched by the brushstrokes of your colors," Veronica interrupted his poetic diatribe. "Barry," she said pointedly, "You said the same thing to me in Indianapolis."

Taft blinked at her, dimly taking note of her perturbation. "And my dear, it was all true."

"Mr. Taft," Betty interrupted firmly. "I'm flattered, but I simply can't accept your generous offer. My work here at the station --"

"Is overwhelming!" Scott suggested abruptly, a chilling vision of the station shorn of its writer dancing in his head. "All-encompassing! Why look at the poor girl -- she's hardly had time to sleep in the last few days, much less to put on any makeup."

"But that's why I want her!" Taft insisted. "Her natural magnetism --"

"Oh, I think you're exaggerating, Barry. The poor girl looks drained, not luminous." Scott adopted a solicitous tone, patting the woman gently on the shoulder before he hustled Taft and Veronica towards the door. "We'll just give you some time to rejuvenate, Betty."

She raised an eyebrow, her expression thoughtful as the door slid shut.

***

The subtle energy of the station in action tended to reach a fever pitch with the unveiling of a new show. This evening, however, that tension was exacerbated by Mackie Bloom's nervous pacing in the studio.

"Where are they?" Mackie asked, checking the wall clock impatiently. He turned to the sound effects technician, Mr. Foley. "What could be holding up Maple and the others?" As Mr. Foley opened his mouth to reply, Mackie held up a restraining hand. "Never mind," he shook his head. "Of course you don't know."

"Maybe they're trying to make an entrance," Jeff Singer suggested languidly, recalling Hilary's own fondness for fashionably late appearances.

Betty stuck her head through the swinging doors of the studio, frowned at the sight of the room bereft of females, and darted back across the hallway to Scott's door. Her frown nearly slid back into place as she came upon the oppressive Taft, and Veronica perched on the edge of Sherwood's desk. All three occupants of the room looked up at her entrance, and she sighed. "There's no sign of Maple," she told Scott. "But if you can help Dr. Taft get ready, we'll be on the air in five minutes."

"Right," Sherwood said confidently, but as he followed Taft out the door he mouthed a worried "help" to her. She shrugged her shoulders expressively, knowing that she could not make Maple and her Crimson Follies cohorts appear at will.

When they were gone, however, her thoughts took a different track. Veronica had slid into Taft's vacated chair, and Betty took her friend's spot on the desk. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?" she asked gently.

Ronnie gazed at her quizzically, feigning a lack of comprehension. "Whatever do you mean, Betty? I should probably help Barry get ready for the broadcast."

"I mean the weird way you've been acting, throwing yourself at Scott, then acting jealous around Taft." She assessed her friend placidly. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Veronica's facade crumbled at the woman's bald statement. She nodded miserably. "I've always been in love with him, Betty." She smiled sadly. "Barry has a real way with words. He can sweep a girl off her feet while he sweeps her into modeling."

"Why don't you tell him?" Betty's own expression clouded briefly. "You'll only hurt yourself if you don't say anything."

"Oh, Betty." Veronica sniffled slightly. "I've tried. At first I thought he was simply trying to maintain a professional relationship. In truth, he just doesn't seem to notice me anymore."

"Ronnie, you've got to make him notice you then. You're beautiful, intelligent...."

She shook her head. "It just isn't enough, I guess."

Betty's reply was cut off as Gertie burst into the room, obviously agitated. "You better come here, Betty!"

***

"You may be thinking 'What can Taft cosmetics do for me?' Let me tell you...."

Betty shot a flurried glance through the glass that separated Taft and his makeup monologue from the control booth, then leaned down to Scott. "You'd better come up with plan B. Maple and the girls aren't going to be here."

Scott turned towards her. "What's keeping them?" he demanded.

"The police," she reported grimly. "When the customers at the Follies saw the girls leaving, they thought the place was closing early. Apparently there was a riot. Maple and the others are being kept as witnesses."

Sherwood never hesitated. He grabbed her by the arm, swept her out into the hallway. "There's nothing else for it, then," he proclaimed as they bustled into the green room, where Veronica had just sat down opposite Hilary, a cup of coffee in her hands. "Ronnie, distribute Taft Tingling Treatment to everybody. You ladies are going on the air in WENN's first beauty pageant!"

The prospective contestants did not look pleased.

***

"Here," Veronica, flustered, shoved a handful of bottles and jars into Hilary's arms. "Here's Taft moisturizer, Taft enhancer, Taft blush and lipstick." She hustled into the green room carrying even more bottles, leaving Hilary staring after her, her lips pursed.

"And here," Hilary pronounced, "is Taft moisturizer, enhancer, blush and lipstick tumbling into the trash." The jars made a satisfying crash as she dumped them into a nearby trash can. Betty, hurrying by, paused at the sound.

"Hilary, you can't take part in the beauty contest unless you're wearing Taft products. We signed a contract with Mr. Wentworth."

The older woman regarded her archly. "Then let Mr. Wentworth wear them."

They were both distracted by movement within the studio. Taft, still enthusing about his own creations, was signing a cheery thumbs-up through the window to Betty, his obvious first pick in the ensuing contest. Betty groaned softly and hurried away. Hilary looked thoughtfully from Taft to her departing figure.

Behind her, in the green room, so did Veronica Baker.

***

"Here you go, Betty," Veronica offered her the jar of moisturizer. "You'd better hurry."

"I'll be there in a minute," Betty accepted the jar, distracted, as she pawed through her typed pages to find more inane chatter to keep Taft, Mackie and Jeff occupied.

"Betty, we've got to get you ladies out there!" Scott insisted as he appeared in the doorway. Veronica slid out the door behind him, just before Hilary crowded into the room with the other WENN employees.

"Ah, wonderful," Hilary proclaimed, plucking the jar which Veronica had just deposited with Betty from the writer's hand. "My own Taft products seem to have suffered a slight mishap."

Betty gave up her search through the papers, counting on the actors to wing their way through as they were forced to do so frequently. "Hilary," she said, exasperated. "I thought that you weren't taking part in the contest."

Hilary laughed lightly. "My dear, I simply could not deprive my fans of the opportunity to show their admiration for me."

"But Jeff and Mackie are the judges," Betty protested. "There's no public voting."

"Well, Jeffrey dear and Mackie are my fans." Hilary's voice grew sharp. "Or they will be if they know what's good for them." As she disappeared with the makeup in hand, Betty spied Mr. Foley toting three metal buckets down the hallway.

"What is he doing?" she demanded Scott.

"Oh, I thought we could arrange some scenic 'background' for the contest," Scott explained. "A beach, you know. Sand crunching under foot. Waves lapping gently in the background."

Betty refrained from commenting on the "crunchability" of sand. Instead, she half sniffled, half yawned. "Scott, I don't think I can do this. I'm exhausted. I look a mess."

"Nonsense." Sherwood waved off her protests. "You look as good as you ever do." He vaulted down the hallway back to the studio.

"Thanks," Betty called wryly after him. Before she could draw a breath, however, a shrill scream rang out from the green room. She dashed there, meeting Veronica in the doorway.

"What was that?" Betty exclaimed.

"I thought it was you," Veronica replied, a peculiar expression on her face. They both staggered back as the green room door was flung open. Hilary Booth towered over them, her face a peculiar color of green. Pea green, perhaps. Or maybe broccoli. The actress produced an open jar of Taft moisturizer.

"Is this your deranged employer's idea of beauty?" Hilary shrieked.

Betty examined the contents of the jar, touching a small quantity to her fingertip cautiously. "It looks like someone added food coloring to it, Hilary."

"I'm GREEN!" she shouted. "I look like a cabbage!" Hilary pushed past them, nearly running into Mr. Foley as he treaded towards studio A, laden with buckets of water. He hesitated, wobbling this way and that, before the contents stopped sloshing. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"I just don't understand," Betty said, perplexed.

"No," Veronica replied, her voice laced with frustration. "You wouldn't." The woman watched Mr. Foley pace cautiously towards them, and sighed noisily. "I just hope you'll forgive me," she muttered under her breath, just as she tripped artistically into the sound effects technician.

Both Veronica and Betty cried out as he staggered. He teetered. He tottered. The buckets tumbled.

But not onto their intended target. Veronica was drenched from head to toe. In a stunned moment of silence, Mr. Foley and Betty both stood opened-mouthed at the spectacle.

Finally Betty recovered. She pushed Mr. Foley -- still silent with shock -- towards the studio. "Tell them to stall!" she ordered. "I'll get Veronica cleaned up." As Foley scurried away, Betty turned to her drenched companion, who was sputtering somewhere between tears and laughter. "There may be some towels in utility closet. There will certainly be a mop. Wait here." She ran down the hall and wheeled around a corner to the closet. Pushing aside Mr. Eldridge's chair stationed by the closet, she flung open the door and stepped inside to examined the contents of the shelves.

Darkness engulfed the room as the door slammed shut behind her.

***

"And now, Wentworth's Department Store, in cooperation with Taft Cosmetics, is proud to bring you a bevy of beauties!" Mackie Bloom, his best announcer's voice in full form and supported by a record of calypso music marking a beat in the background, incited his audience to enthusiasm. "These lovely ladies, wearing the latest fashions and adorned with Taft's fiery colors, would outshine the loveliest tropical plants." He made desperate and unhappy faces at the control booth, where Scott and Barry Taft sat. Sherwood shrugged expressively before dashing out in search of Betty and the other women. "And here, ladies and gentlemen, is our first contestant." The studio doors opened as if on cue, disgorging...Mr. Foley.

Mackie groaned inwardly. "Mr -- I mean Miss, F...F...Filamena!" Mr. Foley gave him a worried look, as Jeff raised his hands in exasperation. "Yes," Mackie barreled on. "Filamena is very becoming in her Wentworth's raving red swing skirt! Accented by Taft's Raspberry Rouge and Stinger Scarlet lipstick, she's ready to jitterbug! Tell me Filamena, why do you wear Taft cosmetics?"

Jeff, shooting Mackie a dark look, sidled to his microphone. "Well Mr. Bloom," he crooned in his best falsetto, "Taft makeup makes me ready to swing...."

***

Thump, thump, thump.

Veronica leaned against the closet door, dripping, with a half-hysterical chuckle bubbling on her lips. She barely registered Scott's approach.

"Hey Ronnie, have you seen Betty?" Sherwood stepped back slightly, puzzled by her appearance. "Uh, are you okay?"

Thump, thump, thump.

"Oh, I'm fine," Veronica said determinedly as she dripped water on his shoes.

"Um, I think there's someone in the closet," Scott suggested cautiously.

Veronica shook her head. "Nope. I don't think so."

"Hey, let me out of here!" Betty's voice came faintly through the door.

"You know, I'm pretty sure there's someone in there," Scott insisted.

Veronica smiled. "Oh, you mean in the closet? Maybe there is." She stepped aside, allowing him to pull open the door. Betty, as she stood framed in the doorway, sneezed. She barely had time to register the door being open, however, before a pair of wet hands pushed Sherwood into her and slammed the door shut once again.

"Hey!" Scott protested from inside the closet as Veronica wedged the nearby chair underneath the door handle.

"Hey!" Betty protested as Scott tried to turn around in the closet to pound on the door.

"Hey!" they chorused behind her as Veronica staggered towards the studio.

***

"Great." Betty slid to the floor into a tired heap, trying to avoid Scott's black Oxfords. "We might as well wait until someone notices we're missing."

Scott relented in his battering on the door and, plucking from the shelf one of the towels which Betty had originally sought, sat down next to her. "Here," he said, offering her the towel as a pillow. "Make yourself comfortable."

Betty took the cushion gratefully, leaning back against the wall.

"You know, Betty, there are easier ways to get me alone," Scott mused. She poked him gently in the side with her elbow.

"Don't flatter yourself, Sherwood." Readjusting slightly to ease her back, she leaned lightly against him. "Poor Veronica," she said softly.

"Poor Veronica?" He looked at her in astonishment, before shaking his head in amusement. "You are something, Betty Roberts. The woman locks you in a closet, and you pity her." He scooted down a little, giving her more support. "I hope you're as forgiving to me, if I ever need it."

Betty yawned. "She was never interested in you, you know," she said lightly.

Scott chuckled. "Betty, I'm too experienced a con man to not know when I'm being conned." As Betty refrained from comment, he continued, "But if a girl wants to go to a movie with me, I won't complain. Want to go to a movie with me?"

Betty smiled in the darkness. "Did you bring any popcorn?"

He shook his head regretfully. "Darn, I knew I forgot something." He gestured to the dark wall opposite them. "But it's a great flick. An adventure." Scott cocked his head thoughtfully. "Or maybe a slapstick comedy...."

***

"Thank you to the lovely Sally." Mackie paused to let Jeff, his voice scratchy from too many feigned sopranos, grab a quick gulp of water. Spying the figure stalking towards the studio door, he continued hastily. "And ladies and gentlemen, we have our final contestant, the lovely Veronica Baker. Veronica looks absolutely --"

He stumbled to a halt as Veronica braced herself in the doorway. Her perfect hairdo was awry. Her expertly applied Taft cosmetics were puddled down the hallway.

"Wet," he finished lamely. He looked to Jeff for inspiration, but the younger actor had none. "Er, Miss Baker is modeling Taft's...uh, Taft's...."

He was spared further floundering as Taft's voice rang through the studio, from a microphone in the control booth. "She's modeling Taft's idea of beauty," he said softly. Standing at the window, the doctor seemed to be seeing his assistant for the first time. "Veronica Baker is modeling her own sparkling eyes, setting off the gentle glow of healthy red cheeks, a beautifully rounded face, and naturally-styled hair. She embodies perfection."

"Oh Barry," she simpered. Jeff and Mackie winced at one another.

"My dear," he said, sounding quite surprised, "I'd forgotten how beautiful you are. You don't need cosmetics to enhance your natural looks."

"And we have a winner!" Mackie proclaimed, as Mr. Foley rang a resounding bell behind him. "This program has been brought to you by Wentworth's Department Store, proudly carrying the entire Taft line of products." He crumpled his script into a ball and tossed it behind him in disgust.

***

"Inconsiderate people, leaving puddles of water everywhere." Mr. Eldridge grumbled quietly to himself as he padded to the utility closet in search of a mop. He paused to eye the chair wedged under the door handle, then with a shrug pulled it aside to open the door.

"Shhh." From the floor of the closet, Scott held a shushing finger to his lips. Betty, her head pillowed on his shoulder, was sound asleep.

"Oh, okay then." Eldridge shut the door on them and shook his head. "I just don't understand young people today."

***

"Congratulations, Ronnie. I'm sure you'll both be very happy." Betty kissed the woman's cheek gently.

"Thank you," Veronica replied gratefully. Barry Taft's hand lay possessively on her shoulder, their bags littered about the floor of WENN's reception area.

"We're going to honeymoon in Indianapolis," Barry explained cheerfully to Scott. "Wentworth's is paying our way."

"Really? I thought they would have been rather upset by the broadcast," Scott exclaimed in surprise.

"Oh, they weren't too happy, until I explained to them the details of my next line of Taft cosmetics! Makeup derived from all natural products, designed to impeccably imitate the natural beauty of every woman."

Betty, experienced in deciphering Scott's own double-talk, interpreted this warily. "You mean, makeup that makes a woman look like she's not wearing makeup."

"Exactly!" Taft proclaimed. "Wentworth's is very excited."

Betty and Scott sighed at the same time. "Well, we wish you all the best," Betty managed, as Scott helped the couple gather their luggage. "Send us a postcard!"

Veronica blew them both a kiss as the door contracted behind her.

"Well, Betty," Scott began as they turned back towards the studio. "You're looking much better."

"Why thank you, Scott. Not drained?" she teased.

"Betty, quit fishing for compliments," he replied cheerfully, not swayed by her gentle chiding. "You look ravishing as always. How about we go somewhere and show off those stunning looks?"

"Let me guess. A movie."

***

"Did you have any trouble with the police, Maple?" Gertie asked, more hopeful than anxious. Maple, sipping her cup of coffee at the table, smiled.

"Nah, they were perfect gentlemen. Even gave us a tour of the clink."

"I find the whole episode ironic," Hilary interjected, ignoring their exchange. She lounged on the couch, her face scrubbed back to its normal color.

"What, that you were willing to parade yourself in front of everybody to win a contest?" Gertie suggested archly.

"That the makeup king likes his women without makeup?" Maple suggested.

"No," Hilary answered. "That these moisturizers actually are quite good." She dug two jars out of her bag, distributing them to Gertie and Maple. "And since Taft is introducing a whole new line, he gave me a box of them as a gift."

"Why thank you, Hilary," Gertie said, surprised by her sudden generosity.

"Oh, think nothing of it," Hilary replied grandly as she waltzed from the room. A smile twitched across her lips as Maple's puzzled voice rang out behind her.

"Is this stuff supposed to be green?"


End file.
